


Running Off Assumptions

by Ymir14



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Exposition, Gen, Oneshot, Spoilers, could be read as shipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4103037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ymir14/pseuds/Ymir14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Funny, how this kept going. His secrets were the ones in the open, and Foggy was the one who was breaking.</p><p>((Something fitting alongside the plot of episode 10, Nelson v. Murdock))<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Running Off Assumptions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AcousticAntidote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcousticAntidote/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Fro! I hope you like emotional turmoil.

If there was ever a song for their friendship, it would be a lot less 'lean on me', and maybe a lot more 'stand by me'.

Matt couldn't really tell if the sky was tumbling or falling, but by Foggy's tone, that might be preferable.

Foggy wasn't even facing him, right now, and that hurts possibly more than his words did, not really malicious, but, hurt.

By the fact Foggy still wasn’t leaving him, Matt thinks that would be preferable.

They were basically married, had been basically married since that year they were roommates, and Matt could never, ever deserve the friendship he and Foggy had. Had, not have, because he’s not sure if he just put the end result of however many years they had been together as parteners, as friends, in the trash.

Foggy, who went along with his schemes despite him never quite explaining them.

Foggy, who didn’t blame him when his terrible ideas he pulled them both into backfired. When those schemes he got them both into fell flat on their face. Foggy who's blaming him, completely rightfully, when this bullshit he now pulled them into brought both their worlds crashing down.

Matt wanted to speak up, to say something, anything, but after so long of never, ever explaining what was going on inside his head, the words weren’t coming out, they got all clogged up in his throat and he could tell Foggy was choking on the words too, but, he kept talking, and, Matt couldn’t find a way to answer. He was too used to keeping it inside, tight lipped, words and queries and emotions that only were supposed to come out during confession backed up his thoughts, and he couldn't get a word in. Foggy seemed like he couldn't stop, the words didn't sound like things he had always wanted to say, but never could; they sounded like words he never wanted to need to say. Matt couldn't find some coherent words, anymore, in the mess of 'please', 'no', and the 'sorry' he's not sure he would be able to say aloud.

Foggy could read him like a book anyways, the kind of way Matt could read other people by their breathing and heart rate, and the familiarity between the two of them felt raw and shaky and vulnerable instead of just calm, and comforting, and Foggy was never, _ever_ , supposed to find out.

Not like this, but mostly, not ever. (Never, not like this.)

Matt couldn't help but wonder if this was another meaning of that saying, 'justice is blind'. He himself as justice, the only way for this city to have some, sometimes. He could be justice, he could be retribution, he could be, literally, blind, but he could also be the metaphorical meanings of it. He could be short-sighted. Corrupt. Guilty as the party at blame. Heavy. Righteous.

He's to blame, here. Judge, jury, and executioner. Defendant, and prosecutor. He couldn't see how this was going to tear them apart. (How keeping them safe would tear them apart.)

He’s remembering back in college, when they just met. Foggy never treated him differently, never metaphorically danced around him.

Literally speaking, sometimes, maybe. 

Foggy's dancing was never as bad as his singing, anyways.

The way Foggy was dancing around the words he really wanted to say right now, though, that's downright graceful.

Matt’s body ached.

Once, him and Foggy were drunk. At what point? No clue. It happened. It happened a lot, sometimes. They didn’t have a problem, but, well, _maybe_ they did. Matt had a lot of problems, all of which could be temporarily dissolved in alcohol and Foggy’s presence. Foggy's problems were different, less severe, so the problems he'd drink to were usually Matt's problems as well.

Foggy carried those for him.

Foggy’s problems didn’t run as deep as his. Never seemed to. Less blame, less mistakes, Foggy was so perceptive, and lied about that. Never brought up whatever he'd noticed until he could use it to make someone a better person. He was a good person to forget with. (Enabler.)

Foggy tried to distract him whenever he felt his past or guilt or doubt creeping up from behind, gave him free reign of himself, he was a genuinely supportive friend. (Enabler.) He let Matt feel like himself, always let him just be himself, without any of the history or worries or past or present or fears dragging him down.

Matt’s head hurt, things felt fuzzy, too many more parts of himself felt _wrong_. He couldn't move off the couch, Foggy didn't move much around him.

They had made it back to their shared space, flung open the drapes covering the windows, because Foggy wanted to look at the sky. (He always told Matt the view from there was fantastic.) Matt couldn't complain, had no reason to. He couldn't give Foggy the stars or the moon or the world he deserved to live in, but he could give him the view out their window.

Foggy's more softly spoken than Matt thinks he realizes, even then. He was always adjusting himself for someone else’s comfort, analyzing (maybe subconsciously) how likable he could be, how he could be more likable for this person, how much he could put people at ease.

Frank, 'Foggy' Nelson was no doormat, but to say he wasn’t a people-pleaser would be lying.

He lived his life around other people.

Foggy made a lot of white lies. Matt always accepted them without complaint, maybe that was selfish. (It was selfish.) Foggy gave himself, and Matt just took.

His heart hurt.

They talked about their family, that night, Matt was maybe too many beers in to stay tight lipped, because, damn did Matt ever mention his father all the time, but he didn't tell anyone the whole story. Foggy talked again, not about his mom wanting him to be a butcher, but about what he thinks she actually meant. Foggy never thought she actually wanted him to become a butcher, genuinely, just something for her to say. She was joking, probably, didn’t want to drop the weight of the world on his shoulders, the pressure to rise above. Probably wanted Foggy to know that having a lawyer for a son would be fantastic, getting free ham would be just as good, she'd love him no matter what.

Matt supposes Foggy had to get that heart on his sleeve from somewhere.

Foggy went on through the stories, melodic voice calm, and, maybe a little fond, a little soft. Matt always found that pleasing to his ears, in the sound dampened room, where he only really had to hear one person. The moment contained only them, only him, listening to Foggy spin stories from anything and everything.

He always loved to hear Foggy talk about his childhood, his family. It made him long for something he never really had, and nostalgic about memories that were only Foggy's to remember. It was warm, comfortable, calm. Foggy was practically made of tales about other people, he'd tell when the time was right.

Foggy didn’t talk about himself.

Matt wishes he would, more often. The adventures of others were great ways to get the mood going without revealing anything about yourself, and both of them knew it. These stories Foggy chose to tell always made Matt wonder just how little he knew about Foggy himself, since they only told him the world Foggy lived in and heard of. 

They sat together like they'd done it all their lives, but, what did Matt Murdock ever know about Foggy Nelson?

Foggy kept recounting the tales of his extended family, his friends, and neighbors, slowly burning out. The conversation eventually turned to Matt, naturally, as Foggy pushed him (just once) to say something, having made up most of the conversation all night.

He talked, then, about his childhood. Not the parts he’d already said. Matt had already told Foggy about his father, the boxer, the losing, beat up, constantly injured boxer. He'd already recounted those memories earlier, of the man who tried his best to support his kid, but still had him sew him up after too bad of a match. Probably showed Matt too much of the ugly in the world, even if he also showed him a whole world of good. Foggy knew those stories knew them as Matt knew them, like legends of a revered figure, never to be trampled on, never to be forgotten.

Those weren't what he told Foggy about, this time.

Matt talked about his mother, not that he knew her, but, what he thinks of her. Thought of her. Anger and sadness and questioning and hate and anger all looping around, shifting as he got older. Told Foggy about how he was in an orphanage, for some time, with only himself as a voice of comfort. (Not that he deserved comfort.) He thought about her, a lot, then. His mother didn’t talk to him, only talked to his dad occasionally, before. Matt liked to try and listen to them on the phone, hear her voice. He told Foggy how he wonders what she would have been like, as a mother, if she came to his school interviews, sat next to him while he learned braille, if his dad would’ve been happier. 

Asked to empty air why she wasn't with them, then. If the problem was his dad, or, if more likely, he was the wedge that drove the two apart. If he ruined whatever they had, both of their happy endings.

Matt told Foggy how he wonders if she didn’t need him. Didn’t think of him.

If she forgot about little Matt Murdock, if she didn’t want to know him. (Or even get to know him.)

Didn’t _want_ him.

Matt remembers he cried. Didn't say a word about Stick, and thought about him all the same. What use were emotions if the only thing they did was boil over?

That night, Foggy held Matt up, arm around his side, and let Matt sob until he calmed down, told him stories about his cousin’s dogs, his uncle’s electronics shop nearly going under and barely staying open after every setback. Foggy kept talking, and talking, and Matt never knew it was possible for anyone to know, to understand, so fully what he needed in a single moment.

That comfort had been welcome, even if Foggy just rubbed his back in seemingly random patterns which somehow became the most reassuring physical contact he’d _ever_ felt. (Matt could still remember kind of how it felt, remember it like the carpet burn on his knees since they never threw out that damn rug, kept them both from the cold floor as Foggy stargazed and Matt listened to him breathe.)

Foggy didn’t have to know about Stick, or anything. Foggy never strictly needed to know what ailed him to help him. Foggy just had the courtesy to be the best damn friend Matt’s ever had. He could just run off some nurturing instinct and genuine concern and some, great, intuitive caring where he could go in blind, find for the right thing to do, to say. Foggy _knew_ , without knowing anything.

They don’t talk about that night, Matt's not even sure if Foggy remembers it.

Matt’s soul hurt.

Foggy was still talking. He sounded hurt, so goddamn hurt.

Matt’s not sure about what to do. Didn't know, wasn't sure how to react, the best words to say, even any words at all to say, and make this even a tiny bit better. Being able to judge someone's heart rate didn’t give him the ability to tell if someone’s composure was dropping, facial expressions were tricky.

God, he wishes he could see, just to know.

He sounded betrayed, more than hurt, more sad, than accusatory.

Matt thinks Foggy may have be just as vulnerable as he was that night. Laid open like a book for Matt to read, watch fall apart.

Funny, how this kept going. His secrets were the ones in the open, and Foggy was the one who was breaking.

This was the last thing he wanted. He just wanted to keep them safe, keep everyone safe, keep the city safe, anyone safe from just a little bit more pain because Matt’s already making Foggy carry too much of his baggage, and his caring has just made the whole thing worse, but he couldn't just stop caring.

He couldn't take back all the things he's done and held up and hid and fabricated because he cared, either.

Matt isn’t sure if he wishes Foggy would stay, or go. Stick by him, or finally leave him like he should have so long ago because Matt didn’t deserve someone like Foggy in his life. He doesn’t want Foggy to stick around, so he doesn’t have to watch him realize that someone like Matt honestly couldn't deserve anyone, and it was too late.

He was watching anyways. 

Foggy kept going. Kept accusing. Kept trying to make Matt say something, make him feel enough to react with as much passion as he did. Matt couldn't speak, still, trapped inside his own head, Foggy's words. Matt wanted to tell him anything, everything, so much but he’d already said too much, and it was too far gone to ever, _ever,_ come back.

Matt felt some tears spill over, and he realized he couldn’t really tell if Foggy was crying too.

Foggy really did have a right to be hurt. Feel betrayed. Cut whatever this was off.

Matt wasn’t sure if he wanted him to, but, it was out of his hands. Foggy could make that decision for him, he'd never make it for himself. Protecting Foggy, leading them into this haphazard career together, most of their friendship, really, he had to let Foggy take the reigns, for once.

Not that he had a choice, now.

Foggy shifted on his feet.

(Every choice he had hurt people, anyways.)

Foggy left, and Matt curled into himself a little more as he heard the door click shut. Heard Foggy walk down the hall.

Listened to Foggy leave.

Matt tried to swallow the lump in his throat, ignore the ache in his heart.

He was wrong. Matt didn't want him to leave, really. He wanted Foggy to stay, and unlike most situations he’d been drawn into, he realized it too late.

Matt was alone with his thoughts.


End file.
